Pointless Meetings: A Captive Existence
Picture this: a well-lit conference room adorned with motivational posters, with desperate pleas for ‘teamwork’, ‘focus’, ‘synergy’, this and that. The air inside is artificially fresh with a blend of lime and rose. Neatly arranged, refilled mineral water bottles serve as a token gesture towards sustainability. And in the centre of it all, a wise old wooden table and chairs stand firm, having weathered a storm of countless follies.
With a mix of surprise and relief, an IT guy marvels at the uncharacteristic cooperation of the lights, projector, speakers, and air conditioner. Yet, a tinge of sorrow lingers, as he knows all too well the absurdity that awaits projection. But duty reminds him to just play his part and exit gracefully.
The stage is now set for a performance so dazzlingly pointless.
As the clock strikes the appointed hour, the silence is singed as the door opens with voices barging in unceremoniously, followed by a chemical medley of colognes and perfumes of all genders, permeating the air and vying for space amidst the lingering essence of lime and rose.
Members assemble, armed with laptops and notebooks as their shields. Juniors, as advised, take seats that offer them the safety of shadows. Laptops hum to life, and the projector reluctantly syncs with the device, and what passes as coffee is served.
Stifling a yawn, a mid-senior takes the stage, convinced that he holds the key to setting the agenda. He embarks on a self-indulgent recap of the previous meeting, stretching each word into an eternity. Time seems to crawl at an agonising pace as he drones on, quintupling the agony with passion, diluting what could have been conveyed in a mere 5 minutes to an unbearable 25, all in an attempt to feign knowledge and create an illusion of thoroughness.
Hearing the audible silence of his audience, he realises the futility of continuing any longer and gracefully ends his monologue, passing on the torch of tediousness to the next tormentor. This transition marks the beginning of an indefinite torment, with someone all too eager to take the lead.
With obligatory courtesy, she thanks the previous tormentor for setting the agenda. Assuming confidence, as rehearsed, she ceremoniously unveils the PowerPoint slides, each more superfluous than the last, describing the results of a market research.
Numbers, buzzwords, acronyms, and phrases swirl in the air akin to confetti gently floating downwards: ‘growth-hacking’, ‘hyperlocal’, ‘freemium’, ‘big data’, ‘new normal’, ‘CTR, KPI, SEO’, ‘move the needle’, ‘let’s circle back’, ‘low-hanging fruit’, and the ever-infuriating ‘let’s touch base’.
Bases remain untouched, fruits remain unpicked, circles remain incomplete, and any semblance of conclusion evaporates like a mirage in the desert.
The presenter cleverly counters any attempt to steer the conversation towards the heart of the matter. Minutes stretch into hours, and hours pass at a glacial pace. Some visibly struggle to resist the urge to curl up into the fetal position under the table, while others doodle caricatures of their colleagues. The big bosses seem busy in WhatsApp confrontations when their most deserving recipient stands right before them, delivering a presentation that begs for their scrutiny. And astute juniors, if any, are already on job sites, letting recruiters know they’re available. Ufff! A slap to the forehead, please!
Finally, as the lunch hour creeps in, all eyes turn expectantly towards the big boss, hoping for the long-awaited call to lunch. The boss complies and announces a break. As the members rise to flee, the boss gestures them to remain seated. The door opens, and trays of uninspiring sandwiches and sugary drinks are paraded into the meeting hall, crushing the hopes of those who thought freedom is within reach.
Each member is served twice the quantity. When someone politely refuses, stating that one is enough, they are politely told that it’s meant for their dinner as well. The presentation resumes as a mere background hum. The clock seems to tick slower by the second. Three more tormentors await their spotlight. And in that moment, the outside world fades into a distant memory. Freedom is snuffed out like a candle. With no escape in sight, one has to accept the reality of their captive existence. For those who don’t get it, this is how even the animals feel when in zoos.
And when you finally make it home, in the dead of night, when werewolves prowl, a haunting email arrives — the minutes of the meeting, with a chilling invitation to confirm attendance for the next meeting. Even the grim reaper, reading behind you, gently places a consoling hand on your shoulder and fades into the darkness, realizing that enduring another meeting is a fate worse than death itself.
